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120 SONGS, ETC. |
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When musk odours, heart regaling, All the mornitig mead perfume,
From the new-mown hay exhaling, I'll the Fisher's Wand resume.
Yea, when autumn's russet mantle,
Saddens the decaying year, I will Fish, and I will chant, till
Feeble age shall change my cheer.
1645. FROM THE ''ANGLERS." |
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THE ANGLER.
Though jest-loving wight, has thought tit to define, In sportive derision, each angling brother,
As "a slick and string (id est, rod and line,)
With a rvorm at one end and a fool at the other."
Vet believe me, no fool is the man who in quiet Can sit down contented amid the world's din ;
'Tis fashion's blind vot'ry, who, dwelling in riot, The slave is of folly, of care, and of sin. |
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